Listen to the world’s best poetry read out loud.

It winds through sage,
cypresses, rock rose –
the drove road long

shared by goatherds
and fisherfolk. At noon
they’d retreat to a high cave,

seclude their wares
deep in its shade,
talk there, or doze.

Though some of them
had a whiff of the beast,
others a hint of brine,

the path below led home
for both, neither
more true nor more right.

Today I sit at the cave’s
cool mouth, halfway
through my life.